Pieces of the Sun
by Orange Memories
Summary: A store of drabbles,short fics and other things my muse inspires me to do.
1. Morning,Noon and Night

**Morning**

"_One, two, three…."_ she counts as she runs the comb through her hair. He watches her. He knows she hates tangles in her hair.

"_Five, six, seven…."_

But he loves the tangles in her hair. He likes running his claws through them in their moments of passion. He knew someone else who would count while brushing her hair too.

**Noon**

She sighs as she picks up the last remaining bottle of shampoo. Her store was running out even though she had scrimped her use of it. She blanched when she smelled her sweaty hair.

But he liked that smell. It reminded him of how strong she was, defending their village against demons. But another woman's picture came to mind and a teardrop fell from his eye.

**Night**

She applies jasmine oil to her hair to keep out the tangles. He smiles as he watches her, putting it ever so carefully. He is happy that after years of grieving and strife, there is some much-needed peace and happiness.

She sees him looking. She smiles. Just like the one he loved long ago.

"What's the matter, husband?"

He lays a gentle kiss on her brow. "You remind me about her."

"There are some people you can never forget, especially those close to your heart."

He holds her tightly in his arms. "Indeed, Sango, my love."


	2. Myriad

She sees in colour. Her young brother zipping past, full of energy and life, is a bright shining blue.

But there, she sees a flash of blue and green. _A fox-child._

Is it a sliver of violet? _A smiling monk._

Or a beautiful tint of dark night on leather? _A woman_. _Who is she?_

She hears in colour. Her mother's laugh is a lush verdant green. She smiles. But then she hears a cold, harsh voice, the colour of poison and lifeless blood.

She smells in colour. The temple shrine smells of lavender incense, of prayers offered to the deity. Yet, the scent of rain on parched earth reminds her of the bright shining blue, leaves her feeling empty.

She dreams in colour. She wades through the colours of the rainbow, through the cerulean blues, misty greens, bold oranges, to reach the comforting reds. Gaudy violets, and gentle cream, hazy yellows and shimmering pinks. The golden colour of the Sun draws her deep inside, leading her to pure radiant silver. She doesn't notice the evil streak of grey caressing her, trapping her…….

_Help me, please._ She is caught in her monotonic dream, never to arise again.

Then she sees the lavender, the blue, the black and the gold sun again.

_We'll protect you._

She wakes, sweat pouring down her face.

_Who are you?_

A tear drop falls across her cheek. The morning sun fills her room with light.

_Looks like I don't remember you. And don't want to remember you._


	3. Red and Gold

RED AND GOLD

A gentle breeze wafted through the city, bringing with it the scent of flowers. It's that time of the year when the trees drape a cloak anew. When leaves change colours and go to leaf heaven, if there is one. When children play with them and their laughter is sweeter than the nightingale's song. When leaves turn red and gold.

The old woman, with silvery hair watched her puppy-eared grandchildren play and tumble among the rustling leaves. It reminded her of her own times, when she would play with her brother. A time of fond memories….

Her husband came up to her and laid a kiss on her brow. He too had silver hair, but it was not from age. He still looked the same as he had fifty years ago. She smiled and brushed an errant leaf away.

She said," I like the fall. These red and gold leaves remind me of you."

He smiled. "Me too, mate."

Two souls, holding hands, walking along the path of life. Their hands may be gnarled, but their love is still young. Still eternal.

They say there is one thing more beautiful than young love. Old love.


	4. Remnants

**Remnants**

Cook. Clean. Wash. Care. For a man you don't love.

Bear children. Raise them. Love them. In a life you don't want to lead.

She's the wife of the village headman, the most respected woman in the village. Leads a mundane life.

He says, "Tomorrow a samurai lord will be passing through the village."

She smiles. Promises to lay out a delectable spread. Inside, she seethes. She hates life. Longs for excitement. But she is bound.

Dusk falls. She cleans before she sleeps. Outside, a large bone weapon falls into her sight. To be used gracefully in the battlefield. A boomerang, a carrier of death. Powerful. Deadly.

Memories of a loving brother. Lost to a vile demon. Of friends, who died too. A pet, her protector. A monk, a part of her soul. She still misses his gropes. Memories of a young woman's resolve.

She was born a woman, lived a taijiya and would die a woman, chained to domestic shackles.

Silently, she wields it once again. It cuts through the air with perfect precision.

A voice calls, asking for help. "Coming, dear." She goes.

The weapon lies still, covered in dust. The only remnant of her past.


	5. The Grave

The wind roared .Snow-crested waves crashed into the sea-shore. A typhoon raged, blowing away the rooftops of houses, sending its inhabitants scurrying for cover. Even demons didn't dare venture out.

But one did.

A tall figure walked. He was not one to be afraid of the storm. The storm was to fear him. His cold eyes gazed into the distance, while the Zephyrs played with his moonlit hair. He reached his destination near the sea-shore.

He came here every day.

Golden eyes came to rest upon a line of graves. The furious crests pounded against the rocks, sending a spray of fine, cold mist into his face. Yet he remained unperturbed, looking at the last vestiges of a dried flower clinging onto a grave.

Some of the people buried here had been old. Some had been warriors. And some were too young, snatched away by the cruel hands of fate much before their time….

A tear quietly traced the fine stripes on his cheek. He wiped it away, seemingly surprised. He was youkai.He showed no emotion.

The flower still clung to the grave. Just like he would hold on to her, forever. He had remained the same_. Beautiful. Immortal. Ageless_.

But she had passed her life like a flower. She was a bud, then she bloomed, and then she wilted into oblivion.

He walked away, his heart heavy. He was the man who had buried a daughter.


	6. The Wait

He had been in love with her forever. Since the first day of school. Since he was seven years old. He had watched her grow into an intelligent doe-eyed maiden from the shy little girl, who had been his playmate.

When she was nine, she cut her leg and he soothed her. When twelve, she was the Sleeping Beauty and he was her Prince. Now, they were teenagers. And his love had not waned. He tried to hold on to her, but she was drifting away. She always found excuses to refuse him. He knew she wanted to get away from him. But he would never let her part from him.

_Never. She has been mine alone, since the first day of school .I will not let another have her._

Hojou adjusted his collar and walked into the Higurashi shrine, bearing a gift of herbs.

She was surprised. Smiling, he said, "Kagome-chan, let me escort you to school today."


	7. Victor

**Victor **

Wisps of light flail, they rise and they fall. Tangled together in broken whispers and promises, the beginning comes to and end. All that has started must come full-circle, but pain never finds place. All that has been will never be again. There are no survivors, much less their destinies. Swords and shattered weapons lie, not belying the ghosts of war.

Wars are fought to be won. But there is no victor and vanquished. Only tattered bits of human and demon souls, lost forever.

Time weaves itself around these fighters, becoming a legend. As long as legends live, the heroes do.

When they fade into ashes and dust, the pedestal is bereft of heroes. Time waits, to capture another in its quiet snare. And the unsuspecting victim waits for his chance to become immortal.

There are no heroes, only the living and the dead, those remembered and forgotten.

For in the end, all that remains are the thoughts of unspoken wishes, and blood-stained shards.

_Then time spins its web again….._


	8. Coincidences

She walked the cold hallways of the wooden fortress. It was nearing winter, and the chill had set in already. Servants bowed to her as she passed, dignifying her as the lady of the castle. She merely walked on, not paying any attention. After all, it was beneath her.

She entered the room, adorned with rich silken tapestries and elegant paintings.

Sniffing the air gently, she said, "Your inability still amuses me."

The dark figure gave a harsh laugh. "Why, my lady, you detected me. It relieves me that you at least know my scent."

"Do not bore me with your idle talk. I asked you to come earlier, for my husband has come back."

"So I hear. The news of Lord Inutaisho's conquests spread everywhere."

"Leave, now."

He came up to her and touches her face. "As you wish, my love. But remember, I shall have you one day."

"Don't presume too much."

"Don't worry; your husband shall meet his end soon, for _I_ am his worst nightmare."

With another inhuman laugh, the figure vanished.

**XXXXXXXX**

She gracefully started pouring sake into a bowl as her husband made his presence felt.

He accepted the cup and remarked, "He was here, wasn't he? "

"Yes, my lord."

"What a fool he is, playing right into my hands. Of course, I couldn't have done it without you. I'll destroy him. I'll be his worst nightmare."

"An interesting coincidence."

"Why?'

"He said the same thing too."


	9. Image

**Image**

They said she was her._ Her. And her. _

They said that they were just like each other, brave, powerful, strong and pure.

And the one they loved, he was the same too.

The burning wind, the meddlesome brook, the foolish rain, they always troubled the woman who was Kikyou, but not- Kikyou.

She looked at all the people, kowtowing before her. Fear. Respect. Happiness. Emotions that only Kikyou could induce.

She was not Kikyou; she could never be like her. Kikyou was the loved one, the one waited for, for fifty years. And she would be the one waiting, forever.

Like a mirror reflects light, reflects your image back, they were one, the same. But the mirror reverses sides.

The mirror of life had changed, cold, worthy Kikyou into a warm, happy Kagome.

Kikyou was gone, and Kagome was there, always. She would be there, for everyone.

"You are just like her.", the evil one says. The line between her and _her _is blurring.

There is no Kikyou. And yet there's no Kagome, too. Only a shadow of her remains.

She silently waits, hoping that Kikyou will be gone, erased from everyone's elephantine memory.

The old village woman enquires, "Tea, Kikyou-sama?" Kagome bursts into tears.

Even if an image, she is Kikyou, after all.


	10. Nothing is a cliche

"Asshole!" "Pig!"

"Nasty bitch!"

"Inuyasha! Kagome! Stop fighting! You have to act like a happy couple." screamed Sango. "The press conference is in thirty minutes."

"Why?"

"Because your fans want that!"

"Tell the smelly wench and her cold mates to keep away from me. She reeks of death."

"How dare you insult my Kanna and Kikyou? You dirty…." Kikyou, who was solemnly standing beside Kagome, drew her bow. "You shall not insult my mate."

"Mate? You've slept with everyone from Kouga to Kirara."

"You didn't mind that last week, did you?"

Sango was in tears. To add to her misery, Sesshoumaru and Naraku made their entrance.

Sesshoumaru was preening himself in his blue mini and fishnet stockings. Naraku was looking very happy in his Marilyn Monroe get-up, with a blonde wig, and scarlet lips and nails. And also in the famous white dress.

"Sess, you are not a slut."

"But Sango, Nara-baby said…

"Naraku, out…of that dress!"

"But Sesshy-poo likes….

"NOW!" glared Sango.

"Here come my bitches!" Inuyasha grinned.

Jaken came and rubbed himself against Inuyasha seductively. "Anything I can do, master?"

"Mmmm…"

"It's my turn tonight." purred Jakotsu.

Sango exploded. "Inuyasha! Kagome! Naraku! Get that lipstick off! Stop snogging, Kikyou…"

She collapsed into a chair. Miroku came in with a cup of coffee.

"My saviour!" Sango said, taking the cup. "I'm going insane."

"And they call me a pervert." said Miroku, his hand invariably straying to Sango's derriere.

"Houshi- Samaaaaaaaa….." WHACK!

After making sure the houshi was out cold, Sango made an announcement.

"Good, are we ready to go?" Everyone mutely nodded.

"Why am I stuck with you?" Inuyasha snarled at Kagome.

"Because it's a fandom cliché."


	11. The Weight of Winter

**The Weight of Winter**

She always waited for the winter. Unusual, maybe. She would wait for the first flakes of snow, for the first leaf to fall down, for the birds to retreat. Leaving the shrine sad and lifeless.

It made her happy. The stark white snow looked beautiful only in pictures. Only those wading through its reality would feel the cold bitterness. But she liked it, the silence that surrounded her.

Winter was when he came back.

She had waited many long years, been reincarnated through the centuries. And she had only one goal, to find him.

She had met him once again in this life. When the trees become bare and wilt away into whiteness.

Their love had been foolish, childish, and almost irrational. Their love was traitorous. He tried to find his redemption in her. She searched for the one she had truly loved.

Their love was the winter. Illogical. Non sequitur. But they called it love.

In time, their love had given birth to a daughter and then to a son. Her daughter's laughter was far away, in another time. Her son's happiness, distant from her mind.

But they were not meant to be. They couldn't be together, him and her.

He came back, just once, to glimpse his children. And then he was gone, to return with the next snowfall.

She hears the tinkling of the doorbell. It is time.

She opens the door. He has not changed, though being a shape-shifter.

"Sango."

"Naraku, welcome back."


	12. The Other Woman

**The Other Woman**

She was but a child when she came to the fortress. A human girl marooned in an unknown sea, where tempestuous storms were ever so subtle.

_A human. Unacceptable. What was the Daimyo thinking?_

She knew she would never be welcomed within the closely guarded walls. She was a weak human. She was the other woman.

She wished she could walk tall, like her. She wished she was as powerful, as her. But she would be the other woman.

But she was accepted by the very one she envied. _You are not alone. I'll be there for you._

The acceptance turned to friendship, and friendship became the forbidden emotion…love.

Their bodies, souls, mind became one. And they would be together, forever.

Would fate allow them?

She asked her, "Do you love me?" There was no answer. Only the sounds of passion as their lips met in a heated kiss. There would be no answer.

One day, she decides to go away. Forever. _We shall meet again_.

The youkai woman looked at the spiralling coils of smoke, as amber fire lit up the night, devouring the castle.

_We shall not meet again, my love._

She had been too late, too late to accept her love.


	13. Mother

Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not laying a claim on Inuyasha or Tetsusaiga or any other sword. Rumiko Takahashi owns them.

** A/N:** This story has a slightly higher rating because of the mature theme. So don't huck rocks at me!

This drabble placed second at the Inuyasha Issekiwa Community at LiveJournal.

**

* * *

****MOTHER**

He delved deep inside her, ad infinitum. He wanted to find himself there, somewhere deep inside her. Her amused laughter made him smile, made him feel the depths of his icy heart. A fog of lust, of passion descended in his heart and he forgot everything.

She takes him through passages unknown to him, makes him swim through a sea of love and brings him back to the darkness that never was…..

She was a masterpiece of the creator, made only for him, to bear him, to teach him to love him. The lust and dark pleasure flood his brain again and the cold, misty drops of dew fail to touch him, despite their teasing efforts. He belongs only to her, to her soul, to her heart…….

They make love like insane, wild animals, then like forbidden lovers, caresses, slow, gentle and sweet.

He looks at her face, radiant but the cruel smile still graces her face, like a backstabbing lover, like the sweet taste of dead blood, like the scent of the deadly nightshade…

He craves only for her taste, for her scent, for her heart…..

She laughs her delicate, beguiling laugh. Entrancing him, ensnaring him.

"You know, Sesshoumaru, you always tried to be like your father."

She reaches close to him, and whispers seductively, "But you can never be him."

In a trice, the fog of haze and lust clears. The dream is gone. The illusion is broken.

And for the first time, his heart too.

_Mother._


	14. The Smell of Roses

**The Smell of Roses**

Grace and Ease. Power and Skill. Perseverance and determination. These were the only words to portray her practice.

Practice. Practice. Practice. Through the day, the woman and the weapon became one, moulding a child, into an extraordinary protector. They would move as one, be as one. A lethal dance, faster than the wind, more beautiful than the geisha, stoic as the Noh mask, which speaks a thousand words in but one expression.

Never tire. Never take a break. Learn. Practice. Be perfect.

Her father would often laugh at her; tell her to take a break. But she would unfailingly touch her weapon. She was addicted to it, or rather to the power in it? It was like an unceasing lover, training her, testing her, and rewarding her. Her insane zeal of being a saviour, a heroine burned in her like a flame, and her relentless practice only fanned it.

"_Take a holiday, daughter." he said. "Learn to smell the roses. Devotion is important, but family is too. We will be gone someday; wouldn't it be nice to create memories?"_

But she never would. Her talented weapon implored her, begged her to use it. And she reveled in the power it gave her. Every demon killed, was a milestone marked, a triumph written in blood and toil.

She didn't care about anything else.

A lone woman, broken, adrift, sat near the very place where she had the memories of her childhood. The houses were shattered; the people were gone, leaving just a trail of ruinous madness. And in their midst, an infinite line of graves, stretching into nothingness. Brittle flowers lay like paltry stones on them, flowers she laid long ago.

They should have been on hers too.

She had been too late to smell the roses. Too late to take a holiday.

Who was to blame? _ Mea culpa, she knew._

Bone and the smith's labour spoke to her again. She kisses it, caresses it, then flings it away.

She will never kill gain. She will finally, finally take rest.


	15. Mirror

Mirror 

The young boy cowers in a tiny corner. He can hear the voice of the master, ruthless, and angry. He fears beatings as painful as the metals have to suffer in their crucibles as they are tamed to something that is not their destiny.

He is tremulous.

He has hardly seen the world outside; only fleeting glimpses of cyan foliage, and pink diamond that blossom in the trees, once in a blue moon. He only knows the spectra of metal, when they eat golden fire, blushing the deepest red, dancing their way through the colour of leaves, the turning a volte-face to shimmering blue.

He looks at the fragile piece in his hand, the blazing incandescence emitted by it, emblazoned in his memory. Lights skips gaily on it, giving it a dark-gold glow.

A mirror, meant for the affluent, to adorn their opulent mansions. But to him, it is a piece of his heart, crafted by his master, and lovingly shined by his own small hands. Every intricate detail beckons him, to search for his soul, and his nameless face in the bronze beauty of the mirror.

The boy gingerly wipes the coloured beauty, and dares look into its dark depths.

Suddenly, the master's slap singes his face, marking it in known colours of wrath.

As the mirror clatters to the ground, he sees a face the colour of the mirror and hair the colour of the coal used to fire the metals everyday.

For the first time, Onigumo sees himself.


	16. Bystander

**Bystander?**

" My Hero!", the beautiful princess screamed as she ran into Miroku's arms.

Miroku sighed softly in his sleep, as one more dream involving pretty women swooning over him came to an end. This scenario had been played out many times in real life, partly due to Miroku's lecherous mind, and partly due to the fact that Miroku would never stand by quietly.

Miroku never backed down from a fight. He always used his Kazaana, sometimes in the best interests of others, and sometimes his own.

Especially when a damsel was in distress, Miroku would _help_ in his own words, _interfere_ in Inuyasha's and _letch_ in Sango's words. But he'd always participate, or come even to just meddle in a situation.

The forest reverberated with loud howls, and Miroku woke up with a start. He assumed that Kagome and Inuyasha had gone for another of their long midnight sojourns, which were no doubt, the source of the sounds that awoke Miroku.

But where was Sango?

Concerned, Miroku quickly got up and started searching the near vicinity.

Then he could hear a soft moaning sound coming from behind the bushes. Miroku rushed in that direction, only to find Sango taking a late-night bath in a hot spring.

Miroku quietly settled down near the bushes, and watched her pale, perfect figure bathed by moonlight.

In a few seconds, Sango would notice him, call him a pervert, and hit him so hard he'd be sent to the seventh heaven.

For now, Miroku decided he'd just like being a bystander.


	17. Avoid

Title: Avoid

Genre: Angst, romance

Word Count: 207

Fandom/ Pairing: Inuyasha, mainly Miroku (hints of Mir/ San)

Prompt: Avoid

For: Lucindathemaid, my new friend.

**Avoid **

Miroku is unholy (and deficient-partial-imperfect and lacking). His hands are belittled with a dangerous curse, which scalds (burnscalds) him again and again. He is-

Not strong nor faithful nor happy (and so half-baked).

His soul is not merged with the dogmas of monks and the Buddha (he is a cruel, perfunctory swindler, isn't he?). Avoid temptation. The taught him. And women. And drink that is evil (and sour and bitter) and dirty.

Avoid. Avoid. Avoid. But the tenets are not for him (for such an incorrigible liar like he is).

Prohibit. Prohibit. Prohibit. Every night, there is a new woman in his empty soul, (so inopportune) and two in his bed. The bed is not alive, but Miroku sleeps to feel some warmth, to defy the rules that religion taught him.

Repent. Repent. Repent. He blames his silly, fickle mind (what else can it be?) for all the madness, the temptation, and for the adventure (-oh, she is a flighty temptress) and realizes that he will avoid everything now.

Life in black-and –white, still carrying his cursed hand, and cold beads, and forgetting pleasure in an incarcerated moment. Avoid. Remember.

And forget. And forget the past, and start the future anew. (Evergreen, virgin, immature future).

With her.


	18. His first love

Title: His first love

Genre: Introspection, Crack!

Word Count: 130

Fandom/ Pairing: Inuyasha/ The Bone-Eater's Well

For: Silverontherose, who gets mucho cookies.

His First Love 

There was so much pain written across her scarred face. The agony of staying silent, of being imbued without hate, of being alive.

She had written her story in blood, in tears and in him.

Inuyasha loved her, not for the detriment she suffered, but for the fact that she had taken him on tumultuous journeys and amazing worlds.

And that she had helped him find and redeem his soul. And because she had helped him find his love.

No, it could never be Kikyou, she was his first love.

He would never abandon her; she would be etched in timeless memories.

As he touched her marred face, and whispered soothing words into her lips, he heard an angry shout.

" INUYASHA! I AM YOUR GIRLFRIEND! NOT THE DAMN WELL!"


	19. Ponder

Title: Ponder

Genre: Romance, Suspense

Word Count: 174

Fandom/ Pairing: Inuyasha, Sango/ Miroku

Prompt: Introspection

For: My tall, dark, and handsome Ren!

Ponder 

Sango wondered when she had fallen in love with Miroku.

And she kept wondering. It may have been a single moment, or may have taken a multitude of years. She loved his smile, their silly fights, everything.

And then they fell in love, so beautifully, unfloundering, unflinching in their declarations. His hands, over her heart, promising her the world, and children.

Sango thought about the babies she held in her arms, so strong and healthy, so pure and lively. She played with them, laughed with them, and danced with them. As a mother should.

Sango wanted to know about the friends she made, the hanyou and his miko, who lived across the well, once an infinite barrier between two worlds, now one she can tread through easily.

Sango touches Miroku. Or rather, wants to touch him, as she moves her hand across his face. So old, so careworn, with worry and pain.

She leaves him then, and she cannot even cry.

For, ghosts have no heart, no touch, but only memories to ponder upon.


End file.
